Secret Santa
by Tex-chan
Summary: When Aya comes dragging home after an unsuccessful solo mission, Yohji helps him celebrate Christmas by playing Secret Santa. Somehow, he manages to give Aya the most precious gifts of all: friendship and hope.


_**Summary: **When Aya comes dragging home after an unsuccessful solo mission, Yohji helps him celebrate Christmas by playing "Secret Santa". Somehow, he manages to give Aya the most precious gifts of all: friendship and hope._

_**Author's Notes: **For anyone who doesn't know, "Secret Santa" is a Christmas tradition in which a group of people get together to exchange gifts. Each person draws another person's name. They then get a gift for that person, either keeping the gift's source a secret, or revealing their identity at the time the gift is given._

_I have to dedicate this fic to Bladedfan, since one of her beautiful Aya drawings was the seed of inspiration that led to this story. _

_This is my first attempt at a holiday-themed fic, so I hope it is an enjoyable read. Merry Christmas to everyone who has read my stories and supported my writing efforts. I appreciate all of you so very much._

_**Warning:** Some bad language._

_**Legal Stuff:** As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it._

**Secret Santa**

Yohji was not a happy camper. He paced around the kitchen over the Koneko -- from the doorway between this room and the living room to the outside door, where he paused to stare at the murky-dark night just beyond the apartment's steps. He cupped his hand around his face and leaned his forehead against the glass to see past his own reflection. But, it did no good. The steps, alley, and parking area behind the flower shop were full of empty, black night -- just like the past ten or twenty times he had looked. He sighed in frustration and flicked some ashes from the end of his cigarette into the nearby trash can before continuing his rounds -- over to the table in the middle of the kitchen, where he pretended to paw through the junk mail sitting next to the bowl of fruit. He flipped through the stack of letters twice without noticing what any of them said, before tossing them back down. They landed with the muffled smack of coupon-heavy envelopes striking old wood, and Yohji continued on his way -- to the kitchen sink, where he leaned, braced up on his outstretched arms, against the counter and stared at his reflection in the window. He had to admit, he looked like hell -- mussed hair that had come loose from his low ponytail to curl around his face; ghost-white skin -- a stark contrast to the dark-colored t-shirt he wore; and, worst of all, the look of quiet desperation so plainly visible in his eyes, even behind the dark lenses of his ever-present sunglasses. Yohji watched the smoke from his cigarette curl around his head for a few moments before frowning at his reflection and tossing the spent butt into the garbage disposal. Reflection-Yohji frowned back at him, and he turned away from the window, lighting a fresh cig as he paced past the stove and arrived back at the doorway between the kitchen and living room. And, thus, another circuit began.

It wasn't like he was worried. Sure, Aya was late, but it wasn't like Yohji cared, or anything.

He paused at the outside door, breaking his routine long enough to check his watch. When he realized what time it was, he glared at the reflection tossed back at him through the small panes of glass.

Aya wasn't just late. He was Way, Way Late.

Yohji's reflection glared back at him, giving him the disconcerting view of seeing his own face split into four sections. But, it offered him no advice or peace of mind, and he moved to the next stop on his kitchen circuit.

It wasn't any big deal, Yohji told himself, flipping through the stack of junk mail once more. He removed one envelope from the pile, holding it up and squinting at it so that he could read the writing. It said Ken might have won some kind of sweepstakes. Yohji shook his head and tossed the envelope back to the table. It hit the bowl of fruit and knocked out an apple, which rolled to the edge of the table and stopped, just short of plunging to the floor.

No big deal at all, Yohji reminded himself again, picking up the apple and replacing it on top of the pile in the bowl. Aya could take care of himself. Aya was one tough, determined bad ass. The biggest bad ass Yohji knew. So, that was it, then. No need to worry. Well, if he had been worrying, that is -- which he hadn't. So, yeah, it was all cool. No problem; everything was hunky-dory. Aya always came home. And, he was always fine. Nothing could happen to Aya, after all. Aya was too damn good.

Except …

Yohji grimaced at his reflection in the window over the sink, unhappy with his brain for dredging up that one, little word. A word that tossed the monkey wrench from hell into his plans for not worrying about Aya. He hated that stupid word, and he hated his mind for whispering it to him.

But, the floodgates were open, and there was no stopping the torrent of worries now. Except Aya was responsible to a fault. Except Aya wasn't late. Ever. Except Aya was out there alone tonight, working on some stupid solo mission -- the kind of thing Kritiker forced him into to pay for his sister's medical care. Except Aya refused to talk about his solo missions, ever, which told Yohji they were even worse than he could imagine -- something with high risk and low chance of return. The kind of thing on which Kritiker didn't want to risk a whole team. And that thought, alone, was enough to make Yohji's blood run cold.

He glanced at his watch, feeling his stomach clench at the realization that Aya was now three hours overdue, which led to another "except". Except the last time Aya was this late, Yohji had gotten one of those middle-of-the-night phone calls -- you know the ones. The kind of call that makes your world crumble around you. The kind of call that tells you your best friend is in the hospital, in surgery for a gunshot wound, and not expected to survive. And, that brought him full circle -- to the final "except": Except he was worried. Sure, he was doing his best to pretend, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Not even himself.

Yohji shook his head, shoving thoughts of Aya, dying somewhere out there in the night, out of his mind. He did not need to go there. Sure, Aya was late. Really, really late. But, it didn't have to mean anything. Aya was all right. He had to be. That's all there was to it; anything else was unacceptable.

He sighed and tossed his latest spent cigarette down the garbage disposal, almost immediately reaching into his back pocket for his pack. He pulled it out and shook it, frowning when his efforts were rewarded with nothing more than the cellophane-sounding crinkle of an empty box. He couldn't help but feel a bit surprised. He had had an almost-full pack when he had entered the kitchen. How long ago was that? An hour? Two hours? How could he have smoked that many cigarettes in such a short time? And, even worse than that, he didn't remember doing it. How could that be?

"You shouldn't worry, Yohji. Aya can take care of himself, you know. I'm sure he's fine."

Yohji jumped as he heard Omi's voice sound out from behind him. He turned to find his youngest teammate standing in the kitchen doorway, his jacket held in the crook of his arm. As Yohji turned, Omi tossed something toward him, across the room.

Yohji reached up, almost more by instinct than anything else, and plucked the object out of the air, smiling at the familiar sound of crinkly cellophane hitting the palm of his hand. It was like music to his ears. Leave it to Omi to know just what he needed.

He tapped the cigarettes to his forehead in a mock salute.

"Thanks, kiddo," Yohji said, grinning when Omi glared at him for using the hated nickname.

Yohji opened the new pack, popping one of the sticks into his mouth and pausing to light it before continuing, "I'm not worried."

"Yeah, right," Omi replied, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling -- an open demonstration of his opinion of Yohji's lie. "That's why you've been in here for the past three hours, smoking like a chimney and wearing a path into the kitchen floor."

Yohji shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant and unconcerned. The expression on Omi's face told him he had failed at both. He sighed, tilting his head back to huff out a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Aw, hell," he said, after a few silent moments, "I know he can take care of himself. I mean, you know … Aya is … well, "Aya". It's just, he's late. Really late. I keep on thinking about what happened last time he was this late. I don't want to think about it, but I can't help it. It's just there, in my mind, staring at me every time I turn around."

Omi frowned. He had forgotten about that, but Yohji's words brought the memory screaming back to him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he did his best to fight down the queasy feeling that suddenly sprang to life in his stomach. He wanted to believe Aya was all right. But, he had to admit, Yohji had a point. Aya wasn't ever late -- not without good reason, usually of the life-threatening variety.

"Hey, you ready to go?" Ken asked, giving Omi a friendly nudge with his shoulder as he came up behind the younger man. He paused, glancing from Yohji to Omi and back again, before continuing, "What's up?"

"Aya's late," Omi replied.

"How late?" Ken asked, an expression of concern darkening his handsome features.

"Three hours," Yohji replied, blowing another stream of smoke toward the ceiling as he uttered the words.

"You think we should go look for him? What was he doing tonight?" Omi asked.

Yohji shook his head as he replied, "Nah. It wouldn't do any good. He was going solo tonight. Some shit Kritiker pawned off on him. But, I don't know what. I don't even know where to start looking for him. I mean, he could be anywhere."

"Still," Ken began.

Yohji cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Nah. You guys don't worry about it. No reason for all of us to go nuts, right? I'm sure Omi's right. He's fine, and he can take care of himself."

He paused for a moment -- the span of a heartbeat, maybe two -- before changing the subject by asking, "What are you two gals up to, anyhow?" He nodded toward Omi's coat and the sneakers Ken held clutched in one hand.

"Oh, uh … well, we finished decorating the Christmas tree," Omi replied, "So we were going to go catch a movie. There's a double feature downtown -- _Nightmare Before Christmas_ and _It's a Wonderful Life_. Admission is half price … you know, because it's Christmas Eve."

"That's kind of a … weird movie combo," Yohji replied. "Besides, it's Christmas Day, now," he continued, glancing at his watch once more. "It's past midnight."

Omi laughed. "I guess it is kinda weird. Maybe we'll start a new holiday tradition of our own by going to see these movies every year or something. That would be kind of fun, right?" He elbowed Ken in the ribs as he spoke, eliciting a grunt of agreement and a snort of laughter, before continuing in a more worried tone of voice, "You know, though, the movie's no big deal. We can stay and wait with you. What if you need to go out and look for him? It would take all of us to cover the city."

Yohji shook his head, a slight smile curving around the corners of his mouth at the idea of Omi and Ken making their own holiday tradition. Heaven knew you had little enough fun things in your life when you were Weiss, and it made him happy to see his two friends making some nice memories, for a change. He figured too many of their memories were wrapped in and around bad times -- something that was true for all of them. There was no way he was going to take a night of fun away from Omi and Ken. Besides, what good would it do to have three people pacing around the kitchen, worrying? It wasn't like they could do anything about it. Either Aya came home, or he didn't. And, if the worst had happened, they would hear from Kritiker. Yohji felt his stomach clench at the thought, but, at the same time, he knew it was true. A cold, harsh truth, but true, nonetheless.

"No way," Yohji said, voicing a few of his thoughts out loud, "You kids go and have fun. We don't know where to look for him. Besides, this kitchen isn't big enough for three people to pace around. You'll ruin my rhythm." He emphasized his last statement with a teasing wink.

Ken nodded his understanding and brushed past Omi, to the door. He slipped his shoes on and ducked out, signaling that he would wait in the alley.

Omi followed behind him, but he hesitated on the kitchen door's threshold, turning to regard Yohji with a worried, tense expression.

"Are you … sure?" Omi asked. "It doesn't seem right for us to go off and have fun. Not when Aya could be …" He trailed off, unable to speak the words out loud, but both he and Yohji knew what he had been about to say. He cleared his throat and continued, somehow managing to keep most of the tremor from his voice, "It just doesn't seem right. I think we should stay."

Yohji silently berated himself for ruining Omi's evening. It was the last thing he would have wanted to do. He thought he had hidden his worry, but he should have known better. Omi was perceptive as hell, and it made sense that he would pick up on Yohji's mood, even though Yohji had done everything possible to stay away from both Omi and Ken that evening in order to avoid this very thing. Although, now that he thought about it, he figured that had been a dead give-away on his part, too.

Yohji sighed and shook his head. "No, Omi. I think you need to go. It'll be fun, right? And, you guys deserve to have fun. You need to have fun. Otherwise, all the other shit just gets to be too much, you know? I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to make you worry, too."

Yohji's voice sounded sad and full of regret. It tugged at Omi's heart, forcing him to swallow past the lump that had, suddenly, jumped up into his throat. It was one of those moments -- the kind that make you realize how important the people around you are. Yohji, Ken, and Aya -- they were Omi's family, and he treasured them, even though they drove him nuts most of the time.

He could remember times when he had waited up, worrying about Ken being late from a mission or an errand. He had done the same thing Yohji was doing now -- paced around the kitchen and tried to keep himself from imagining all the horrible things his mind seemed dead set on showing him. He knew how Yohji felt -- helpless, alone, and afraid.

For some reason, seeing Yohji like this hit Omi hard. Maybe it was because it was Christmas. Maybe it was because, of all of them, Yohji always seemed so calm and at ease -- like life was one big joke and he didn't give a shit about any of it. Or, maybe it was because it had never occurred to Omi that Yohji cared this much about Aya. Sure, he knew Yohji tended to go a bit nuts when Aya was late, or missing, or injured. So, it shouldn't have come as any great surprise, but, for some reason, it did. For some reason, it shocked and dismayed Omi to see Yohji beating himself up with worry. And that made Omi feel ashamed. It almost felt like he had betrayed both Yohji and Aya, like he had forgotten to notice they were human, underneath it all -- with very real fears and feelings. He knew the last thing Yohji wanted right now was to be alone, feeling powerless to do anything other than worry and imagine all sorts of horrible things happening to the one person he cared about most in the world. And, yet, Yohji cared enough about him and Ken to insist they carry on with their plans. Omi wasn't sure why, but that realization wrenched at his heart, too. And, it made him feel ashamed and guilty as hell. How could Yohji be so vulnerable and fragile, and, yet, also so strong? It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed Omi's mind, but, at that moment, it smacked right into him -- Yohji was so much more than the happy-go-lucky, womanizing moron he pretended to be. And, not for the first time, Omi's mind whispered to him that he would never measure up to the kind of man Yohji was.

He wanted to tell Yohji all of this, but, somehow, the words weren't there. Maybe they were there, and Omi just couldn't get them out of his mouth around the huge lump in his throat. As it was, he felt like he would burst into tears if he said too much. He would have liked to chalk it up to nothing more than holiday sentimentality, but, in his heart, he knew it was more than that. Much more.

Instead, Omi cleared his throat, stalling for time until he felt like he could trust his voice to remain steady. Once he felt confident he could talk without betraying his emotions, he said, "All right, then. If you're sure. If you hear anything, though -- if Kritiker calls … whatever -- call me on my cell, OK? I'll leave it on vibrate, but I'll be able to hear it, even in the theater."

When Yohji nodded, Omi gave the older man a tight, strained smile. He had intended it to be a reassuring gesture of support, but he knew it only showed how Yohji's worry had reached out and infected him, too. Yohji smiled back, though, showing that he had appreciated the gesture, nonetheless, and Omi reached for the doorknob. He paused as Yohji's voice rang out behind him, so soft it barely carried across the room.

"He'll be all right, right? I mean, he's too damn good for anything to happen to him. Right?"

Omi turned around and gave Yohji another smile -- this one calmer and more genuine than the last.

"You're damn right," he told Yohji, emphasizing his words with a nod. "He is too damn good. Besides, it's Christmas."

"I'm not sure angels watch out for assassins, kiddo," Yohji commented, a steady stream of smoke flowing from his mouth, along with the words.

Omi watched for a few seconds, as the smoke curled up and around Yohji's head -- almost like a lover's gentle caress -- before floating up toward the ceiling and dissipating. Those small moments seemed to wind out slowly, almost like an eternity … almost like Omi would always remember Yohji standing there, looking at him with that sad, uncertain expression and the smoke curling around his head. And, in that second, Omi wished it was true. It was one of the rare times when he felt like he saw Yohji as he really was -- not the image the older man presented to the rest of the world, but the real Yohji, the heart and soul of this man who had become like a brother to him. Omi wished, with all his heart, that he could freeze this moment in his mind, that, no matter what, he could always remember Yohji like this.

"Sure they do. We're still alive, right? What more proof do you need?" Omi replied, smiling when Yohji laughed at his statement. "Merry Christmas, old man," Omi called out, giving Yohji a teasing wink as he ducked out the door, hurrying down the stairs to where Ken was waiting for him.

Yohji crossed to the door so that he could watch his two teammates disappear into the night at the end of the alley.

"Right back at 'ya, kiddo," he whispered, pausing a few moments before continuing to pace around the kitchen.

* * *

Yohji startled awake when he heard the outside door rattling. The sounds rang out, gunshot-loud in the impossibly still, silent kitchen, and he bolted upright, twisting around in his chair to stare at the door. He struggled to gather his scattered wits as he watched the knob move from side to side with a noisy, metallic sound, as if someone was trying, without much success, to slide a key into the lock.

He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to make sense of things, as the rattling noises continued. The sounds from the kitchen door had awakened him so suddenly that he felt disjointed, confused, and out of place, and he struggled to come awake and pull his thoughts together. He wasn't sure how long Omi and Ken had been gone. He remembered pacing around the kitchen for a while longer, until he got sick of wearing a trail in the old linoleum, at which point he had forced himself to sit down at the table, intent on waiting out the rest of his uneasy vigil. He must have fallen asleep, his head resting on the tabletop, pillowed on his crossed arms.

The lock rattled again. Could that be Omi and Ken? Yohji glanced over at the clock above the stove, squinting through sleep-blurred eyes in an effort to read the numbers. He couldn't remember what time his two teammates had left, but it seemed a bit early for them to be coming home.

Yohji heard a muttered curse, barely audible through the door's solid, wooden barrier. And, suddenly, he was wide awake, his brain snapping to attention and forcing everything to slide into place with a sick-edged clarity that made him wince.

Aya! It had to be Aya, home at last. And possibly injured, judging from the trouble he was having getting the door open.

Yohji shot out of his chair and across the room, his breath coming in short, harsh pants and his chest tight with the panic that had scrambled up from where it had spent most of the evening twisting his stomach into knots. He crossed the floor in three long strides and jerked the door open, terrified of what he would find, but, at the same time, ready to end the tension-filled suspense all this waiting had caused for him.

Aya had been leaning against the door as he tried to shove his key home into the lock. He toppled forward when Yohji yanked this support out from under him, falling right into the older man's arms.

Yohji caught Aya as he stumbled into the room. For a second, he thought the younger man would fall, and he tightened his grip on Aya, capturing him in an impromptu embrace in an effort to keep him on his feet. Aya regained his balance quickly and began to pull away, planting one hand against Yohji's chest, as if he intended to shove the older man backward to break the unexpected physical contact. Yohji, relieved beyond words that Aya was home, didn't let go right away. Sure, Aya was stumbling into the kitchen, acting like he was drunk or worse, but he seemed to be, more or less, in one piece. And, there wasn't any blood -- always a plus. All of it combined to make Yohji giddy bordering on foolish, and he hung on to Aya for a few more seconds, pulling the younger man to him and burying his face, briefly, in silky red hair that smelled like sandalwood. He was surprised when Aya didn't struggle away from him. Other than the one hand planted against Yohji's chest, Aya did little to free himself from the embrace. For a second, he seemed to lean into Yohji, as if seeking comfort from the older man's presence.

Yohji frowned, relief turning to worry at Aya's unusual behavior. If he didn't know better, he would almost believe Aya was happy to see him, happy to be home. But, that wasn't like the younger man at all. After a brief moment or two, Aya pulled away, breaking contact and glaring at Yohji.

Then again, maybe he just imagined the whole thing, Yohji thought, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

He bit back a few choice words about what a jackass Aya was for being late and making him worry, and, instead, asked, "You all right?"

Aya nodded, brushing past Yohji to enter the kitchen. He pulled up one of the chairs and slumped into it with a low groan, stretching his long legs out in front of him and hanging his head over its back. It was a disconcerting feeling for Yohji, watching Aya like this. The younger man looked like someone had suddenly flipped his power switch to "off", and it made Yohji feel more than a little queasy.

Yohji pushed the door closed but remained standing there, watching Aya settle in and running a critical, assessing gaze over the younger man's body, taking in every nuance of Aya's demeanor and appearance in an effort to decide if he really was all right, or if he was lying to hide some kind of serious injury. Not that Yohji expected lies from his best friend, but Aya was something of an expert at hiding his injuries from the rest of them.

This time, at least from what Yohji could tell based on outward appearances, it looked like things were okay. Aya seemed drawn and tired; his skin, perhaps, a bit more pale than usual, but nothing out of the ordinary for someone who had spent the last few nights up late planning a mission and, then, another evening doing the job -- certainly nothing a day or two of good, solid sleep wouldn't cure. There was a bruise along the right side of his face, running from his hairline down toward his jaw, and a gash, which had already turned purple and started to swell, over his right eye.

Otherwise, Aya looked undamaged, unmussed, unruffled, and, most definitely, un-Aya-like. Yohji frowned as he stared at the younger man's odd clothing. Aya was wearing a white silk shirt -- all ruffles down the front and at the cuffs, which just barely peeked out from beneath his coat sleeves. Or, it would have been all ruffles down the front, had it been buttoned. Instead, Aya wore it open, showing off well-developed chest muscles, a teasing hint of six-pack abs, and an odd assortment of pendants -- a heavy, carved, antiqued-silver cross studded at its center with a heart-shaped sapphire; a dog tag and bullet hanging from a delicate chain that looked like a bunch of balls strung together; a bat, which hung from a double interlocking chain attached to the top tips of its outstretched wings; and a silver peace sign. He had matched the white ruffle shirt with a pair of black leather, form-fitting, peg-leg pants -- complete with bondage straps -- and a pair of calf-high, platform boots -- also complete with straps and made out of black leather. Yohji could see a collection of skull charms hanging from the middle buckle on Aya's left boot. They glinted in the kitchen's light as Aya stretched his legs out in front of him. A blue velvet coat, which hung to about mid-calf on Aya, completed his ensemble. It was tapered in to a tight fit at his waist, flaring out around his hips. The coat's deep blue color seemed to set off his eyes perfectly, bringing out their purplish tone and giving him an almost unearthly appearance, which was heightened by the heavy black eyeliner and mascara Aya wore.

In fact, Aya looked … damn hot. It was the first thought that popped into Yohji's mind, and he shook his head, shoving the unwanted whisperings out of his brain. Aya was his friend. His best friend. His best friend who was a **guy**. This was not something you should think about your best friend. Even if it was true. Okay … especially if it was true.

Yohji cleared his throat, swallowing down the lump that had suddenly appeared there, and nodded toward the gash over Aya's eye as he commented, "That's gonna need some stitches."

Aya grunted a reply and reached up to poke at the injury, an automatic, absent-minded action that made him wince when his fingers came into contact with the tender, swollen area. Yohji stared, shocked as hell to discover Aya also wore black, fingerless gloves, a skull-shaped ring with sapphire eyes, and black fingernail polish. He hadn't noticed any of that when Aya first came in, but, now, he couldn't stop staring -- especially at the fingernail polish.

"Dude … are you wearing fingernail polish? And makeup?" Yohji asked.

"Yeah," Aya replied, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

He looked up at Yohji's dumfounded expression and continued, "Well, you know, I needed to … blend."

"Um … okay," Yohji replied, moving away from the door and over to the sink, where he bent down to rummage through the lower cabinet in search of the first aid kit.

It only took him a few seconds to retrieve the kit, and he paused at the sink to wash his hands before crossing the room once more. He used his foot to nudge Aya's legs out of the way and, then, to pull up a second chair, placing it so that it was facing the younger man. Aya had straightened up in response to Yohji's nudging, and he watched with an impassive, unreadable expression as the older man looked through the medical kit, removing the needle, sutures, local anesthetic, and syringe he would need for this minor procedure.

No, Yohji realized, now that he was staring into Aya's eyes, not impassive -- exhausted as hell. Aya might not be seriously injured, but it was pretty clear he had been through the wringer.

"You sure you're okay?" Yohji asked again, searching Aya's eyes for a true answer to his question.

Aya nodded and glanced away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

"All right, then," Yohji said, laying his supplies out on the table and filling the syringe. "How do you want to do this? Face-to-face? Or you wanna lean back?"

"Back," Aya replied, with a soft sigh.

It was a small noise, but it twisted at Yohji's heart. He thought it was the most exhausted sound he had ever heard. He nodded, moving to stand behind Aya's chair.

"All right, just relax," Yohji mumbled, his voice muffled because he held the now-filled syringe between his teeth.

He placed his hands on either side of Aya's head, guiding it until he stood over the younger man, with Aya leaning back in the chair, his head resting against the top of its back. Aya seemed at ease, closing his eyes and letting Yohji position him as he liked.

"Be still, now. There's gonna be a small pinch here," Yohji muttered, injecting the local anesthetic.

"Ow. Hurts like hell," Aya complained, startling a little as the needle slid into his flesh.

"Oh, quit whining," Yohji replied. "And sit still, I said. If you stop moving around, I'll be done already."

"I'm not moving," Aya grumbled.

"Look, man, do not argue with the guy who has a needle next to your eye, all right? Just … for once, shut the hell up and stop bitching," Yohji snarled.

The words were harsh, but there was a gentle, teasing tone curving around the growl he tried to put into his voice. Aya smirked, showing he wasn't fooled by Yohji's mock irritation.

A comfortable, companionable silence fell between them. Only the sound of the clock over the stove and the humming of the refrigerator broke the quiet in the room as Yohji concentrated on his work. It wasn't a big cut, and he figured he could close it with three or four sutures. But, since it was right over Aya's eye and visible on his face, he decided to use more. He hoped using smaller stitches would minimize the appearance of the scar Aya would have once the cut healed.

"All done," Yohji commented, pulling his final stitch taut as he reached around Aya, for the medical kit that still rested on the tabletop. "One second. Just … hold still or this'll pull out," he muttered, his tone almost absent-minded.

Yohji twisted around to rummage, one-handed, through the first aid kit. After a second or two, he removed a pair of scissors. He secured the final stitch and snipped the excess suture off short. He grabbed a bottle of pain pills and handed them to Aya, reaching over the younger man's shoulder and shaking the bottle to rattle the pills inside, so that Aya would know it was there. Without changing position or opening his eyes, Aya took the bottle, and Yohji moved away, back to the sink, where he washed his hands again before cleaning off the medical supplies he had used. He left everything to dry on the counter and filled a glass of water before returning to the table.

"So?" Yohji asked, placing the glass next to Aya and returning to his vacated chair. "We gonna talk about this, or what?"

"Nothing to talk about," Aya replied.

He sat up with a groan and started fumbling with the bottle of pain pills. It had a child-proof cap, and he couldn't seem to get the little arrows lined up so that he could open it. He frowned in frustration and rattled the bottle. With each successive failed effort, the narrow-eyed expression of irritation deepened, as did the frown lines around his mouth. After a few minutes, he seemed more than ready to throw the bottle of pills across the room and be done with it.

Just before things reached that point, Yohji stepped in. He sighed -- a short huff of air that aptly demonstrated his irritation with his teammate -- and grabbed the pills out of Aya's hand, shaking his head in disbelief and rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, as if he could find all life's answers there. As if the yellowing plaster overhead could explain why he had to be saddled with such a pissy burden.

But at the same time, Yohji knew he wouldn't have it any other way. No matter how pissy or irritating, Aya was his responsibility. He wasn't sure how it had come to be that way. Heck, maybe it had always been that way, ever since Aya's first day with Weiss, when Yohji had found him, unconscious, on the Koneko's floor. He still didn't know why, but he had picked Aya up then, taking the younger man up to his own room to sleep off the after effects from his fight with Ken. It seemed like that had set some kind of dynamic between the two of them, so that, now, Yohji was stuck in this never-ending cycle of watching out for Aya, watching over Aya, worrying about Aya. It was exhausting and draining. And, sometimes, Yohji wished like hell it wasn't this way. But, on nights like this -- when Aya was missing or hours overdue, when Yohji had lived through imagining his worst fears come to life -- he realized things were exactly the way they should be. And, the way he wanted them. Even if Aya was an irritating, pissy bastard.

"Yeah, right," Yohji replied, sarcasm dripping from every syllable as he opened the bottle with one savage twist. "I can see that. Nothing at all. That's why you come in here, looking like something a cat puked up and then dragged home, and you can't even open one little bottle of pills."

"It has a child-proof cap," Aya grumbled.

"Yeah, and your point is -- what? This makes you a child?" Yohji returned.

He shook out two tablets, leaning forward to grab Aya's wrist. He turned Aya's hand palm up and shoved the pills into it, frowning as he saw a faint glint of light off of something under the ruffled cuff of the younger man's shirt. He tightened his grip on Aya's wrist, refusing to allow him to pull away, and shoved the shirt sleeve out of the way, revealing half of a pair of handcuffs. The metal of the bracelet was pitted and scratched, and a few lengths of chain dangled from it, tapering off to a shattered end.

"What the fuck?!" Yohji exclaimed.

Aya glared at Yohji as he jerked his wrist back, out of the older man's grasp. He tossed the pills into his mouth and took a large gulp of water, grimacing as he swallowed. He reached out to put the glass back on the table, and nearly missed. It balanced on the edge, scant fractions of an inch away from plummeting to an untimely death on the floor's old linoleum, until Yohji rescued it. With a slow, gentle motion, he placed his hand over Aya's, sliding it -- and the glass -- away from the table's edge. Aya continued to glare at him for another few seconds, before, once again, settling back in his chair and closing his eyes.

"Look," Yohji said, the words riding out of his mouth on a long, resigned-sounding sigh, "There's no point in being all pissy with me. I'm not the one who hit you, or busted your head open, or slapped handcuffs on you, or whatever else happened tonight. I'm just the stupid asshole who spent the whole damn night sitting here, wondering whether you were dead or not."

"Oh, so you missed me?" Aya asked, the sarcasm in his voice softened by the slightly teasing tone.

"Like hell," Yohji muttered, "I was just wondering when all this lovely peace was going to end, and I'd have to deal with some pissy, whiney bastard's problems." He nudged Aya's legs with his foot again, snapping, "So, spill it."

"I got … a little tied up," Aya replied. "That's why I was late. Well, part of the reason, anyhow."

Yohji bit his bottom lip and threw his head back to, once again, glare at the ceiling as he uttered a frustrated groan. With anyone else, he would have taken the "tied up" expression as nothing more than a bit of colorful language. But, with Aya, he knew better. With Aya, it was the literal truth. Broken handcuffs don't lie.

Why did this have to be so damn hard? He cared about Aya. More than cared, maybe. Somehow, Aya had become a touchstone in Yohji's life. Still, when it was like this -- when Aya was in one of these moods, which happened pretty often, and it was like pulling teeth to get even the smallest bit of information out of him -- Yohji couldn't help but wish he didn't care. It would make life a hell of a lot simpler, that was for sure.

"Look," Yohji tried again, "I'm … not looking for any mission details, or whatever. I know better. I just … You're hours late, man. And, you come dragging in here looking like shit. Your face is all bruised up, you need stitches, and you're wearing at least half of a pair of handcuffs. I know you said you were all right, and I wanna believe you. But, you've gotta admit … it raises questions."

Aya looked up to glare at Yohji again for a few seconds. Finally, he sighed and shook his head -- an admission of defeat that, oddly enough, did a lot to unsettle Yohji. He wasn't used to Aya being this agreeable. Aya had to be feeling pretty awful, if he was willing to give in to Yohji's desire for information. But, Yohji knew better than to voice his concerns. Instead, he tried to ignore the uneasy feeling twisting his stomach into knots and waited for Aya to continue. He knew pushing the younger man any more would be a pointless waste of time.

"So, do you think you could … you know … get these off of me?" Aya asked, clearing his throat -- a nervous, self-conscious sound that seemed out of place for him. He rattled the handcuff bracelet against the table to add emphasis to his question.

"Yeah, sure," Yohji replied as he stood up and turned to leave, intending to head into the living room in search of his lock picks. He paused at the door and called back, over his shoulder, "But, you are gonna tell me what happened, right?" When Aya didn't answer, he repeated, "Right?" in a more emphatic tone.

"Yeah, yeah," Aya replied, "Just get the damn picks and get this thing offa me."

Yohji returned in a few minutes, lock picks clutched in one hand, and a small gift box in the other. He found Aya just as he had left him -- leaning back in the chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, although he had slumped down a bit, into a more comfortable position. Yohji shoved the gift box into his jeans pocket and crossed to the table in a couple of long strides. He returned to the chair he had vacated, but, this time, he didn't make Aya move. Instead, he scooted his own chair closer to the table, so that he had a better view of the handcuff on Aya's wrist.

He tugged at Aya's wrist, turning it one way and, then, the other in an effort to expose the lock to as much light as possible. Aya didn't resist, but, again, allowed Yohji to work in peace. Or, maybe he had just fallen asleep, Yohji thought, taking a furtive glance at Aya's relaxed posture and closed eyes.

If Aya thought he was getting out of this whole explanation thing that easily, he had another "think" coming, as far as Yohji was concerned. But, first things first. Yohji frowned down at the lock in front of him. It was mangled all to heck and beyond, and, at first, he wasn't sure he could pick it. Thankfully, his ego took over where self-doubt left off, telling him there wasn't a lock made that Yohji Kudou couldn't pick. Well, it wasn't hubris if it was true, right? And, in this instance, it served its purpose. It gave Yohji the confidence to put his own doubts aside and tackle the lock in a systematic manner.

It was a simple mechanism, but so battered that it took several minutes of fiddling before he managed to release the tumblers. Yohji nodded, smiling in satisfaction as the cuff clicked open and fell to the table with a metallic-sounding rattle. Oh, yeah, chalk up one more for the master.

The self-satisfied smirk turned into a frown of irritation when he caught sight of the ugly bruise around Aya's wrist. It made sense, given the handcuff's generally shabby state, but, all the same, it looked damn painful. For now, he figured the pain killers Aya had taken would handle this injury, as well. Tomorrow, he would have to make a point of asking Omi for something to put on it. It was a good bet Aya would never mention it to anyone, the stubborn bastard.

"Do I need to pick the other one, too?" Yohji asked.

Aya never opened his eyes, but he shook his head, "No."

"I'm … almost afraid to ask, but … what happened to it?" Yohji asked, feeling like a moth drawn toward the flame that will spell its doom.

Aya shrugged, indicating he didn't know.

"It was just a … long night," Aya said. "I … I'm not sure what happened to the handcuffs. I don't even know how they broke, exactly. Maybe one of the bullets hit them, or something. Just … once I got out of there, I realized I still had on one cuff, and the other was just … gone. I dunno. Stuff happened really fast."

Yohji didn't like the sound of that. Any of it. First of all, in his experience, which was considerable, it was never a good thing to have bullets flying around one's person. And, then, there was Aya's almost nonchalant comment of _"Stuff happened really fast,"_ which was unlike the younger man. Usually, Aya could give you a blow-by-blow account of any fight he had been in; not that he would volunteer that kind of information, ever, but he could. That was the point.

"Bullets? I already don't like the sound of this," Yohji mumbled.

"Hey, you're the one who asked," Aya replied, still without bothering to look in Yohji's direction or open his eyes.

"Yeah, I did. And, of course, it's your mission in life to make me regret it," Yohji said.

Aya shrugged. "Of course."

There was a strained silence as Aya paused and Yohji waited for him to continue. It was almost as if the room around them also waited to hear the rest of Aya's tale. Yohji wanted to prompt him, to force him to continue until he had the whole, ugly story laid out in front of him. Waiting like this, especially after pacing around and worrying for the hours preceding Aya's arrival, was making him crazy. He wanted to scream, just to let off some of the excess tension rumbling through his body, just to break this heavy silence that had fallen over the room. But, he knew better.

Now that he had started, Aya would continue. Yohji just had to be patient, and the younger man would tell him everything. But, any prodding or prompting on his part would make Aya shut down faster than anything. In his heart, Yohji knew this. Even so, it felt like the additional waiting would put him into an early grave.

Yohji took a deep breath and silently counted to ten, praying for the patience he needed to get through this. He knew it was there, somewhere inside him. He was an assassin, after all, and you didn't stay alive for long in that business without being patient about pretty much everything. Yohji just hoped it didn't desert him now.

After what seemed like a long time, Aya cleared his throat and continued, "The target is a small arms dealer. Runs that new Goth club downtown -- "Cave … something". It seemed like a simple deal. I mean, you know … when I don't have back up, it's not like I can do anything fancy. Just, pretty much, walk in there and kill the guy and leave. But, somehow, the target made me. I … don't know how, but he definitely knew who and what I was. Three of his underlings jumped me. Usually, taking out three guys in a fight … it's not such a big deal. But, I could not get a punch in, you know? It was weird … like being stuck in tar or something. I dunno. Someone must've put something into my drink without me noticing. So, the three guys grab me … Next thing I know, I'm across town at this deserted house kind of in the middle of nowhere. I … I don't even know how I got there. I just … everything went black and, then, I woke up there. For some reason, the three guys who grabbed me were arguing. I … don't remember what they said, or what it was about, but I thought, maybe, it was my chance. You know, to get away. I wasn't feeling too hot at that point; I didn't think I could fight my way out. So, I made a break for it. Luckily, they were too stupid to handcuff me to anything. I was almost to the door, and I tripped over something. Stupid mistake. I didn't fall, but they heard me. Came after me. That's when they started shooting … I guess they were bad shots, or something … because nothing hit me. But, I think one of the ricochets hit the handcuffs, and that's how they got broken. Still, I managed to get out of the house. Thought I was home free, because they had brought my car there. I guess to dump me and it together somewhere. But, just as I made a break for the car, one of those assholes lobbed a grenade. Can you believe that shit? I mean, a grenade, for crying out loud. Talk about overkill. Damn thing hit the car and blew it all to hell. I really didn't have any choice at that point. It was pretty obvious I wasn't going to get away, so I took them out."

Aya told his story in a flat, almost inflectionless tone of voice, the same kind of voice someone might use to tell you about a television show they had watched. Yohji sat there and stared. He was stunned, but that wasn't all. He could feel dozens of emotions surging through him -- rage, shock, and the most profound terror of recent memory were just the first few he identified. He could not believe what he was hearing. It wasn't just the way Aya told the story. That was part of it, but it was also the fact that he had a strong suspicion Aya was leaving out a lot of detail about his little nighttime adventure. And, even getting the toned-down version, it was almost impossible to believe that many things could happen to one person in the span of a few hours. Aya hadn't bothered explaining exactly how he managed to get away, and, after hearing the rest of the story, Yohji knew he didn't want to know. He figured he was going to have ulcer-inducing nightmares, as it was, just from knowing how close Aya had come to dying tonight. It was Christmas, for crying out loud! Doesn't karma take a break on Christmas? Or does Fate just sit around and laugh twice as hard at you on holidays?

Well, at least now he knew why Aya seemed so off-balance. It had to be the after-effects of whatever drug those guys had slipped him. Yohji hoped it didn't have a bad reaction with the pain killers the younger man had just taken. If he had known, he never would've let Aya take the pills. Which, he guessed, is why Aya didn't mention it until after the fact. As for the rest of it … Yohji figured it was going to take a bit of time to wrap his brain around all of it.

"So, then, I walked home," Aya's voice broke the silence once more, drawing Yohji away from his thoughts. He glanced up in time to see Aya shrug, as if to say it was no big deal.

Yohji almost bitched at Aya for walking home after all of that, instead of calling someone to come get him. But, he thought better of it and managed to swallow back the sarcastic, biting comment. He was mad and upset and scared, and all of that combined to make him want to lash out at Aya, which was twisted and weird, since what had happened to Aya was the reason he was mad and upset and scared, in the first place. Aya was tired. Dead tired. It looked like he had walked across hell and back, and Yohji knew any sarcasm from him, no matter how justified in his own mind, would only start a fight between the two of them. And, he did not want to fight with Aya. Not tonight. He was too happy to have his friend back, alive and relatively unharmed. Besides, it was Christmas.

Once he thought he had control of his voice, Yohji cleared his throat and said, "Sorry about your car, man. That sucks."

"Oh, it wasn't my car," Aya replied. "Mine's in the shop. Some valve problem or something. Lucky thing, too. I would've hated to lose my car like that," he finished, with a small shudder.

'I would've hated to lose my Aya like that,' Yohji thought.

It was an automatic, fleeting thought -- there and gone almost before he knew about it. And, where had that come from, anyhow? Sure, Aya was his responsibility. They all acknowledged that, although no one ever said it out loud -- probably because Aya would beat the shit out of them. But, it was understood. Still … **his** Aya? Is that really how he thought of the younger man? And, since when?

Yohji shook his head, dismissing the disturbing thoughts. He promised himself he would sit down and figure all of it out later. But, right now, he didn't have the time. Or the distance. The panic, the worry, the relief -- all of it was still too new and too fresh right now.

"I'm just glad I had the full insurance coverage on the damn thing," Aya muttered, once again jolting Yohji back to reality.

He gave Aya an eyes-narrowed expression of disbelief, although the full impact of it was lost on the other man, since Aya's eyes were still closed.

"Oh, yeah," Yohji replied, sarcasm dripping from every word, "That's fucking lucky. Leave it to you to think of shit like that when you've almost been blown all to hell. You're serious? A grenade? No shit?"

"No shit," Aya replied, a hint of laughter coloring his words, "And you shoulda seen that mother go up. I mean, it was a freaking huge explosion." He paused for a couple of seconds as a new thought occurred to him, "I'm not sure what I'm going to tell Kritiker, though."

Yohji felt the cold hand of dread grip his heart once more. He had been so relieved to see Aya arrive home, and, then, so shocked by the younger man's tale of woe that he hadn't given Kritiker a second thought. But, Aya was right. Their keepers would want some kind of explanation. And, considering the massive string of mishaps this evening had been, Aya would have to have one damn good explanation. He was one of their top operatives, but, even so, Yohji had a feeling Kritiker would not look kindly on his failure this evening. And, when Kritiker was unhappy … well, that meant everyone was unhappy. Really unhappy. He wasn't sure what kind of punishment they might mete out for Aya, but it didn't matter. He resolved, then and there, to protect the younger man, no matter what. If they all put their heads together, he was certain they could come up with some kind of plausible excuse for why the mission had been delayed. Aya wouldn't be too happy about involving Omi and Ken, but Yohji had a feeling that wouldn't matter. Once they knew about Aya's adventure tonight, Omi and Ken would insist on being involved. After all, they were Weiss, and they looked after their own. It was as simple as that.

"We'll figure something out," Yohji answered.

Aya shook his head. "No, it's my responsibility. My place to take whatever comes because of it."

Yohji gave a sigh of disgust and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Oh, come the fuck off that martyr shit. You know damn good and well I'm not letting you do any such thing. And, I know the other two won't either. So, you really don't have any say in the matter."

"Prick," Aya snarled.

"Jackass," Yohji growled back. "I can't figure out, though, how so much freaky shit happens to you. I mean … a grenade. What are the odds of that?"

"I know," Aya replied. "Sometimes, I think there's some demented fangirl or something out there, writing all this shit about my life. Like I'm just stuck in whatever weirded-out world she creates."

"Well, as much shit as happens to you, she must love you a lot," Yohji said, with a small snicker.

"Too damn much, if you ask me," Aya mumbled.

They both laughed at their little joke. It wasn't the kind of thing that would be funny under normal circumstances. But, late at night, when you were giddy with relief at seeing your best friend come home alive and well, or when you had just lived through having your car blown up, it was pretty damn funny. A lot more than it would have been by the cold light of day.

After a few moments, their laughter tapered off, and a comfortable silence fell between them. It was the kind of feeling you wish would go on forever, like coming home after a long, hard day. But, at the same time, it was a moment that could not last. As with all precious, golden things, it was gone all too soon, broken by Aya's next question.

"So? What did you guys do tonight?" he asked.

"Uh, well, we decorated the Christmas tree. And, Omi made us listen to lame holiday music. He had a whole CD of The Chipmunks singing Christmas Carols," Yohji replied, feeling idiotic at the thought that they had all been here, safe at home, laughing and enjoying themselves, while Aya had been out there fighting for his life.

"The Chipmunks? No shit?" Aya asked.

"No freaking shit," Yohji replied. "And, we listened to the whole thing. Twice."

"Seems like I got off lucky, then," Aya said, a small touch of teasing laughter in his voice.

"Hell, yeah, you did," Yohji replied, matching Aya's teasing tone.

He paused for a second or two, before clearing his throat. "Anyhow, look, I … um … I have something for you."

He shifted around so that he could pull the small gift box out of his jeans pocket. He set it on the table and slid it toward Aya. The box skittered across the worn, wooden top, until it came to rest against Aya's arm.

"What's this?" Aya asked, opening his eyes so that he could frown down at the little box.

Yohji gave him an eyes-narrowed, sarcastic-looking smirk. "Whad'ya think it is? It's a gift. For you. From your Secret Santa."

Aya speared Yohji with a steady gaze. Not quite a glare, but not quite an open and friendly expression, either.

"You know, it's not really "secret" if there are only four of us … and you draw my name every year," Aya commented, nudging at the box with his index finger.

"Look, do you want the damn gift or not?" Yohji snapped, giving Aya one of his most irritated-looking glares.

"No, no, I … I want it," Aya replied.

His words came out slowly, as if he was hesitating, and he poked at the box again. He looked uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"Good fucking grief," Yohji snarled. "It's not gonna bite you or anything. It's just a gift. I mean, if you really don't want it, I'll take it back, you damn ingrate."

"No," Aya replied. He looked back up at Yohji, and a faint blush appeared on his face, lending his too-pale skin a hint of color. "It's not that," he continued, "It's just … I … I forgot. About Christmas. I mean, I … I don't have anything for you."

He looked so embarrassed and sounded so sad that it twisted at Yohji's heart. Almost everyone thought Aya was the consummate asshole. A true ice prince, in every sense of the word. Even Omi and Ken, who lived and worked and killed with him, tended to think that. On some level, they knew better, but Yohji knew they were still taken in, quite often, by Aya's stand-offish attitude and cold demeanor. Yohji was a little bit ashamed to admit that even he was surprised whenever he saw Aya this way. He knew Aya. Really and truly knew him, probably better than anyone else in the world at this point in their lives. He knew Aya's attitude was an act, that he was, mostly, all growl and bark and very little bite. Still, to see him like this -- embarrassed and concerned that he had hurt a friend -- it was a bit of a shock. Yohji couldn't quite explain it, even to himself. He didn't understand it, and he wasn't sure he ever would. It was one of those mysteries about Aya, about the way he was -- kind of like, in these moments, Yohji was seeing Ran, and the man Aya might have been, if not for Weiss. He couldn't help feeling a little bit sad, when he thought about it that way.

Yohji realized Aya was watching him with an intent, worried expression. No doubt the younger man had mistaken his silent pondering for disappointment or anger. He smiled back at his friend, shaking his head to dispel any false notions Aya might have.

"No worries," Yohji said, "You're home safe. That's all I wanted for tonight. Plus, I got to see you in make-up. And fingernail polish. I mean, shit … that's like the gift that keeps on giving."

He laughed when Aya's anxious expression turned into a glare, followed by a disgusted shake of his head.

"Come on, man, open the damn thing!" Yohji urged.

Aya grinned back -- not the shy, ghost of a half-smile he so often wore, but an expression of genuine happiness and amusement -- and took the top off of the box. He reached inside and pulled out a single earring. It dangled from a silver stud-- an antiqued-silver cross, traced over with delicate carving, and embedded at its center with a heart-shaped sapphire.

Aya was speechless. He stared at the cross for a few long moments, before turning his gaze toward Yohji. He could feel a lump in his throat and chest, and he knew his eyes were shiny-wet with unshed tears. He was embarrassed for Yohji to see him react this way, but he couldn't help it. The earring was a perfect match for the cross pendant he wore, and Yohji, alone, knew the story behind that particular piece of jewelry -- that his sister had purchased it for him, shortly before her accident, and that he never took it off.

"Takatori's dead now. And, one day, Aya-chan is going to wake up. She's going to go back to living her own life, and I thought, maybe, you might want something to take the place of her earring -- you know, once this is all over, and you can start living for yourself again," Yohji explained.

Aya didn't know what to say. Even if he had had the words, he wasn't sure he would have been able to speak around the lump in his throat. It wasn't just an earring. It was as if Yohji had managed to give him the most precious gift of all -- hope. Hope that, one day, this nightmare would be over. Hope that, one day, his sister would wake up and be whole again. Hope that he would be able to live his own life, if he just managed to hang on and stay alive long enough. Maybe that life would see him still a member of Weiss, still an avenging murderer … but at least it would be his own choice at that point, and no one else's. There were a lot of times when he forgot hope even existed in his universe, but, now, he had a tangible reminder of it. Something he could hold in his hand and dream about; something to look forward to. To Aya, it meant everything -- much more than he could ever put into words, even for Yohji.

"Maybe it's too girly-looking?" Yohji worried. "I wanted it to match her cross … but I was going from memory when I described it to the jeweler. If you don't like it … I can return it. I mean, it's a custom piece, but he'll take it back and make me another one. No problem."

Aya shook his head. He managed to swallow past the lump in his throat enough that he could choke out, "No. It's … It's perfect. I love it. Thanks … Yotan."

Yohji smiled. He had been worried about giving the earring to Aya. Somehow, it had seemed "right". But, he had been unsure of how Aya might react. He was happy and relieved that Aya had understood the meaning behind the gift. Although, he figured he should have expected as much. This was Aya, after all.

"All right, then," Yohji said, "Merry Christmas, you prick."

Aya laughed. "Merry Christmas to you, too, you jackass."

"Come on," Yohji said, standing up and holding out his hand, "I've got some fingernail polish remover stowed in my room. One of my ladies left it here a while back, but I don't think that stuff goes bad. You don't want Ken and Omi to see you like that. You'd never hear the end of it from Ken … and I'm afraid you would damage our innocent Omittchi with your smexay hawtness." He placed a teasing emphasis on "smexay hawtness", drawing out the syllables to show he was joking.

Aya took the outstretched hand, using it to pull himself to his feet. He groaned a little as he forced aching muscles back into action, but he managed to stand up with a minimum of swaying, which he took to be a positive sign that he might live for a while longer -- at least until the sun came up.

"Well, looks like you'll live," Yohji commented, seeming to echo Aya's thoughts, as he led the way out of the kitchen and across the living room to the stairs, which would take them to their bedrooms on the third floor.

"Yeah," Aya mumbled, "I guess so. At least until Kritiker gets ahold of me over this screw up."

"Eh, screw 'em," Yohji remarked, starting up the stairs.

He was quiet until he had climbed about halfway. He turned around to regard Aya with a questioning glance, as he asked, "Did they give you a definite deadline for the job?"

"No," Aya replied.

"And the three guys who grabbed you are dead, right? So, it's not like they'll tell anyone or come looking for you," Yohji continued.

"Yeah," Aya said, his tone taking on a note of wary caution.

This had all the hallmarks of a conversation leading up to one of Yohji's "plans". And, the thought of a "Yohji Plan" made Aya a bit queasy. Not that he didn't trust Yohji. He did. But, he had gotten into trouble plenty of times by following the older man's lead. Enough times that he preferred to leave the planning up to someone else -- like himself, or Omi.

"So, that settles it, then," Yohji said, giving Aya a decisive nod as he whirled around and, once again, began to climb the stairs.

"Settles what?" Aya asked, his voice hesitant, as if he didn't want to know the answer to his question. Because, really, he didn't.

"You tell Kritiker you were just doing surveillance tonight. They didn't know you were going for the kill this time, and anyone who could compromise you is dead, except for the target. It's not like he's gonna rat you out or whatever. Next week, you hit the club again, but this time, I go with. For backup," Yohji explained.

He heard Aya's grunt of protest, and held up his hand, forestalling any argument on the younger man's part. "It's not negotiable. I'm going with you next time. You almost got blown up, for crying out loud. You're not going in there alone again, not when the target knows who you are. That would be suicide, and you know it."

The stony silence at his back told Yohji Aya had agreed to the plan. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. It was either this, or face Kritiker's wrath. And, Yohji knew Aya couldn't stand to leave a job half-done. It was the perfectionist in him.

Yohji held his peace for two more steps before adding, in a mock-serious tone, "And, next time, maybe you can help me do my makeup … oh, and my nails, too."

"You fucking bastard," Aya muttered, "You're never gonna let me forget this, are you?"

"Hell no," Yohji replied, "I told you -- it's the gift that keeps on giving."

After a couple of seconds, Yohji heard Aya's soft laughter. It floated up the stairs and seemed to caress the air around him. He couldn't help but wish he got to hear that sound more often.

Yohji smiled as he reached the top step. Things weren't perfect in their lives. They were still Weiss, still forced to dance like puppets at the end of Kritiker's string. They knew their lives could end at any moment. But, for now, they were safe. Aya had made it home in once piece, and they could still laugh about all the ridiculous shit in this world. All in all, life was good -- and it was beginning to look like Christmas, at last.

**End**


End file.
